Euphoria
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: Draco is a little broken in his later life. A chance argument with his father over the upbringing of Scorpius sends Draco spiraling back into old habits, habits he has always struggled to kick. Will he be able to get over his past and move on with his life, or will he continue to live a life of resentment, like his bitter parents? Rated M for drug use.


**A.N: **Written for the Hunger Games Challenge on the HPFC with the prompt "District 6 – Write about someone turning to drugs to get over the war."

* * *

oOo

Draco and Astoria were sitting opposite Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy at the Malfoy Manor, Draco's childhood home. Despite the gathering meaning to be happy and enjoyable for both parties, no one looked remotely glad to be here. They were engaging in the weekly family meal that Narcissa insisted upon, all apart from Scorpius, who, at only four years of age, wasn't invited along. Astoria always wanted to bring him and Narcissa delightedly agreeing, Lucius had drawn the line. Scorpius was far too young to engage in proper conversation, and he didn't wish to spend his evening talking about babies and nappies and anything else related, so Scorpius was left at home with the nanny.

It was an awkward and silent dinner, the only noises being that of the forks and knives scraping and clattering against plates, the sounds echoing around the dining room. Draco knew there was something irritating his father, as Lucius was pursing his lips and pulling faces across the table. Finally, Draco could stand it no longer. He finished the last morsel of his bacon carbonara, and flung his fork into the empty dish. "Is there a problem, Father?" he shot at Lucius.

Lucius picked up a napkin and dabbed at his chin, then ran a hand through his (now snow white) hair. "Yes actually, Draco. I was hoping you would bring it up."

"Bring what up?" Draco asked.

"Lucius, please, let's just enjoy—"

"—not now, Narcissa," Lucius said smoothly, ad held his hand up to silence his wife. "Draco, I would like to discuss how you are bringing up young Scorpius."

Draco's clenched his fists tightly, keeping them hidden under the table. "What about him?"

"When you graced us with the delightful task of collecting Scorpius from his nursery class, do you know what we discovered?"

Draco could guess. "Go on."

"You have been sending Scorpius to the nursery – the same nursery – that the Weasley blood-traitors and the Potters are sending their filthy little brats to!"

"Lucius—"

"—not now, Narcissa," Lucius hissed again, not taking his eyes off his son. "Draco, I insist you remove Scorpius from that nursery and send him elsewhere _at once_. Now, Narcissa tells me that there is a lovely nursery just east of here. All respectable families, pure-blood – I believe your old friend, Blaise Zabini, sends his daughters there."

Draco stood up suddenly, throwing his chair out behind him, causing both Astoria and Narcissa to gasp and flinch dramatically. "I can't believe I am hearing this. It's been _years _since the Dark Lord died. When I married and Astoria gave birth to our son, I vowed that we would _never _bring him up the way you brought me up," Draco's eyes were burning. "It was this kind of behaviour that caused all the wars and hatred in the first place. It's not the dark ages anymore! Scorpius is doing really well at that nursery, and I would rather he went and played with children born of good witches and wizards, than people like you."

Lucius' lip curled. "You would never have spoken of the Weasley's and Harry Potter like that just a few years ago, Draco. Come now, stop behaving like this and see sense."

"I saw sense when the war ended," Draco shouted. "I saw sense when the Dark Lord made a mockery of our family and made me bear the dark mark because of _your _foolish mistakes. I will not have Scorpius turn out the same way."

"Oh, listen to yourself, Draco," sneered Lucius in retaliation. His voice had raised to rival Draco's, now. "Those brats could teach him bad habits. Do you really want to risk Scorpius growing up and taking a fancy to one of the Weasley girls, and maybe marrying her one day – oh, I dread to think," Lucius took a hearty swig from his glass and laughed loudly.

Draco opened his mouth to retaliate, but realised that no words came. He stormed from the dining room to the hallway, ignoring the shouts from Astoria and his mother, and then proceeded to apparate just past the entrance doors. He appeared in his own hallway, of the house that he and Astoria shared.

Grace, the nanny, came out from a room on the left. Grace was a young little thing, about eighteen or nineteen years old. She was slender, with a waspy waist and wide hips, and she wore figure hugging clothes. Draco, who had long since nursed a soft spot for the pretty Grace, had spent several nights of passion with her, when Astoria was out running errands, and thankfully Grace had kept it a secret from his wife. As she wandered into the hallway, her flared hips swaying, Draco's eyes dropped to her bulky cleavage. "You're home early, Mr Malfoy," she smirked, and leant against the doorway.

"Is Scorpius in bed, Grace?" Draco cleared his throat and directed his eyes to her face, despite how prominently she was thrusting out her chest.

"Oh yes, fast on. Been asleep for hours."

"Right. Well. I'll be in my study. Please do not disturb me," Draco threw his jacket over the bannister and headed upstairs.

"Your loss," Grace shrugged, and vanished from the hallway.

Draco threw himself into his desk chair and sighed loudly, running his hands through his hair. He was so angry. How could his father still be so shallow and narrow minded, after everything they went through? It was a whole new generation now; there was no need for him to be so cynical. People rarely ever spoke about pure blood and class systems. Narcissa hadn't stuck up for him – a fact that wasn't new. Draco grinded his teeth, trying to ignore the rage that was coursing through his veins right now.

He needed realistic measures to cool down. He had an idea, but it was the wrong idea. Something he used to do a lot, before Scorpius had been born. The only thing that had helped him well and truly get over the Battle of Hogwarts, when his mind had been plagued with his classmates falling around him, and the memory of Crabbe falling from his broomstick, plummeting into the depths of the dark fire in the Room of Requirement. He had needed something to make him forget; to make it easier to cope with.

Draco had been addicted, back then. But after Astoria gave birth, he vowed to go cold turkey. It didn't work – he was no longer completely addicted, but he had fallen back onto it as a coping mechanism, when times were hard.

It had been about six months since he'd done it last. He could get a hit in now, while Scorpius was in bed. Astoria would probably hang back at the Malfoy Manor for a while, trying to make amends with her mother and father-in-law. He had time.

Draco pulled his wand from his pocket and aimed it at the very bottom drawer of his desk, and opened it magically. It looked like a normal drawer scattered with quills, ink bottles and spare rolls of parchment, but when Draco pointed his wand at it again, there was a glow of yellow light, and the bottom drawer vanished immediately, revealing a secret, extra drawer. Inside was a small, fat bag, tied in a knot and filled with white powder. He pulled it out, replaced the drawer, and scattered a small amount on his desk, and then proceeded to flatten his wand against the desk, using it to push the cocaine into a thin line. Then he pressed one finger over his left nostril, bent his head, and used his free nostril to snort up the line.

He groaned as he felt the drug seep its way into his system, and leant back in his chair, breathing in deeply.

The rush was almost immediate. There was a surge of pleasure that seemed to head directly for his brain and then spread out to his toes and fingertips warmly. A soothing, drowsy feeling followed. His mind fogged over blissfully, and he could feel all of the anger and frustration that had been plaguing him, just washing away, sinking away from him, leaving him alone in a vast ocean of peace, with only the occasional murky dull thought, floating in the air around him like lonely, grey ghosts.

They drifted through the mist in his brain eerily; every now and then one would flicker to the forefront of his mind. Why did his parents care so much about Scorpius now, when they barely showed interest in him before? How could they be so backwards? Even though Draco still didn't particularly like the Golden Trio, he still could not be the person that he used to be. He was a grown man now, not a jealous little boy, and he planned on being completely civil with any and all of his high school enemies. He had even politely attended the wedding reception to both weddings.

The war was over now. Even though Draco was still up every night in fits of cold sweats, clinging to the bony frame of his wife and convinced that he was still seventeen and back at the Malfoy Manor with the threat of the Dark Lord hanging over them like a deathly disease, he could still accept that it was over. His parents, apparently, could not. They were still stuck in the past, fantasising over pure-blood supremacy, and telling themselves that they couldn't be exposed to the likes of muggle-borns and blood-traitors.

A bang from downstairs alerted Draco back to his senses immediately, but he was still too drowsy to react, and within minutes Astoria had crashed through the study door. She halted in her tracks and stared Draco down, horror registering on her face. He was slumped back in his chair, his shirt buttons undone, the bag split open on his desk and traces of powder still on his nose. He looked up at Astoria through half-lidded eyes, registering the anger that was flooding her face, her cheeks flushed scarlet and her eyes narrowed. She stood there, her normally neat hair falling out of place, and her pinstripe pencil skirt ridden up above her knees, exposing her stocking tops. "Draco!"

"Astoria," Draco struggled into a sitting position and rolled his shirt sleeves up past his elbows. "It's not what it looks like."

"And what the hell does it look like?" she shrieked. In a flash, her wand was from her pocket and she had directed it at the coke on the desk, where it suddenly burnt in a flash of orange flames. "You were supposed to be clean, I can't believe this! I have let you look after Scorpius on your own – oh my…" Astoria's voice tailed off and she stalked away from the room. Draco staggered to his feet and stumbled after his wife, into their bedroom. She was tipping random items into a suitcase, which was strewn across the bed.

"Astoria, what are you doing?"

"You are a wreck, Draco Malfoy. You're as bad as your parents. I am leaving and taking Scorpius with me."

"You're leaving?" Draco leant back against the wall, shock rising in him like sickness.

"Until you get clean," she flicked her wand and the suitcase zipped up then proceeded to jump into the air, where it hovered patiently. She left the room, the suitcase soaring after her. He heard the distinct, muffled voice of a very tired Scorpius, and she walked past again, with the boy on her hip. Draco followed her down the stairs, and she stopped in the doorway.

Draco knew in that moment, that he had to give it up. His mind was addled, the drugs were the escape from his past, but he could see his beautiful wife and son in front of him. These things were more important, no matter how much the war had littered his persona with distress.

There was no point in dwelling on the past. It was time to move on.

oOo


End file.
